The punk rocker o'the day this time was none other than the mild mannered Deya Ramsden, someone to whom you could normally entrust your heirloom china collection over a summer of civil unrest.
fter a long hard day at work, I returned to Kappa Mutha Fucka to find the place empty. I also found that the window by the bottom of the stairs has a football-sized hole smashed through it. People continue to feel the need to prove the legitimacy of their punk rock credentials at any monetary cost. The punk rocker o'the day this time was none other than the mild mannered Deya Ramsden, someone to whom you could normally entrust your heirloom china collection over a summer of civil unrest. But last night she'd been watching Sid and Nancy and apparently come to conclude that she hadn't been fulfilling her quota in the breaking of objects.
little Pekingese dog named Nigel lives across the street.
He belongs to a shapely young blond woman who, like many women of that description in this town, has been stalked by Steve Weiner. Nigel is one of the very few little dogs whom I can tolerate. He almost never barks and he has none of those small dog ego problems. He finds affection repulsive, and much prefers to play. Of late, Nigel has decided that we at Kappa Mutha Fucka are the cool people to hang out with. He spends so much time over at our house that he is beginning to remind me of the Dragon from the days of Big Fun. The welcome difference, though, is that Nigel smells considerably better. One of Nigel's favourite toys is a rubber frog we gave him some weeks ago. He usually brings this (or one of his other fake-animal friends) over with him when he comes to visit. He delights in chasing after his toys when we throw them. Today as we all hung out with Nigel on the front porch, Leticia the Brazilian Girl noted that Nigel lies on his belly with the soles of his feet pointing outward while holding his mouth agape exactly like his toy frog. Friends imitate each other, even when one of them is chewing holes in the other.
For geek-historical reasons, I also like the way "futuristic" computers are portrayed, sans-Windows.
onster Boy has been arranging with Jenfariello for Joe Christ, the penis-free shock-filmmaker, to come to town and do a show in the Downtown Artspace, which Jen owns and operates. Today while Monster Boy was on the phone with her, she invited us all to come over for a slumber party. Like most recent Saturday nights, this one wasn't holding much promise for excitement, so it wasn't hard to convince everyone to go. We all piled into my Dodge Dart and headed off for the Brick Mansion in the 'Hood. Those in my car were Leticia, Matthew Hart, Leah, Deya and Monster Boy. We carried a twelve of Natural Ice in bottles and a smaller number of Sam Adams.
When we got to the Brick Mansion in the 'Hood, we found that Ami Sage and Jenfariello were the only ones there. The others, incuding Sam, had gone on hippie vacations or elsewhere. Jen and Ami knew a surefire ticket to excitement was inviting over a carload of drunken layabouts.
We sat in the teevee room and watched movies on cable. The only one I stayed awake long enough to view completely was the modern (1986) remake of the 1958 sci-fi classic The Fly. It's a cautionary fable about the powers, risks, and limitations of technology and the human mind. In this version, our failed hero, played by Jeff Goldblum, is molecularly deconstructed, the information transported through a local area network, and he is reconstituted on the other side. The only glitch is that he takes the ride with a fly, whose DNA is combined with his own. Goldblum continues to look like and function as a human for a time, but then...
The special effects are wonderful and at times disgusting. For geek-historical reasons, I also like the way "futuristic" computers are portrayed, sans-Windows. The Fly is the kind of narrowly-focused science fiction I prefer. I'm not a big fan of overblown space sagas. I'd seen the movie several times before, and never regret seeing it again. The instant The Fly was done, I fell asleep and continued sleeping through the next movie.
When I awoke some hours later, I found all my housemates except Monster Boy clamouring to return to Kappa Mutha Fucka. I handed Matthew Hart the keys and let him drive the others back. The scandal: I slept with Jenfariello while Monster Boy and Ami Sage were elsewhere. I won't report on things about which I know nothing.